“Where are those embryos now?”
“They’re at my clinic,” the doctor says.
“Are they viable?”
“We won’t know until we thaw them,” she replies. “They could be.”
“Following that last procedure,” Angela asks, “when was the last time you saw Zoe?”
“She came to the clinic asking to use the embryos. I explained that, according to our policy, we could not release the embryos to her without her ex-husband’s signed consent.”
“Thank you, nothing further,” Angela says.
Wade Preston taps his finger on the plaintiff’s table, considering the doctor before he goes in for the kill. “Dr. Fourchette,” he says, “you say the embryos that aren’t ‘good’ are discarded. Incinerated?”
“That’s correct.”
“Incinerated means ‘burned,’ does it not?”
“Yes.”
“Which is in fact,” he says, standing, “what we sometimes do with people who die. Cremate them. Right?”
“True, but these embryos are not people.”
“And yet they’re treated in the same manner as a deceased person. You don’t flush them down the toilet—you reduce them to ash.”
“It’s important to note that sixty-five percent of embryos actually are abnormal and die on their own,” the doctor says. “And that both parties in this lawsuit actually signed a contract with the clinic agreeing to the incineration of embryos that were not appropriate to be transferred or frozen, among other things.”
At the wordcontract,Wade Preston turns. Angela, in front of me, snaps erect. And Judge O’Neill leans toward Dr. Fourchette. “Excuse me? There’s acontract?”
He asks to see it, and Dr. Fourchette hands over the document. The judge scans it for a few moments in silence. “According to this contract, in the event of divorce of these parties, any embryos that remain shall be destroyed by the clinic. Dr. Fourchette, why was this contract not carried out?”
“The clinic was unaware of the Baxters’ divorce,” the doctor says. “By the time we learned of it, it was clear that a lawsuit was about to be filed.”
The judge glances up. “Well. This makes my job a lot easier.”
“No,” Zoe breathes, at the same time that both Angela and Wade Preston leap up, shouting their objections.
“Your Honor, we need a recess—” Angela says.
“A chambers conference,” Preston interrupts.
Judge O’Neill shakes his head. “I do believe enough of my time has been wasted. Counsel, approach the bench.”
Zoe turns around, frantic. “He wouldn’t do that, would he? I can’t lose this baby to a technicality.”
“Ssh,” I say, but I’m not just trying to comfort her. The lawyers are in a heated discussion, and I’m close enough to hear. “Why did counsel not know about this contract?” the judge demands.
“My client never said anything about it, Your Honor,” Angela replies.
“Nor did mine. We didn’t even know this contract existed,” Preston adds.
“And yet both of your clients initialed this,” the judge points out. “I can’t just ignore the fact that a contract exists.”
“Circumstances have changed since the time it was signed,” Preston says.
“And there’s case law—”
